


The Children of God

by Ori_Cat



Category: Relic Master Series - Catherine Fisher
Genre: "It" used as a pronoun, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 03:29:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11614947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ori_Cat/pseuds/Ori_Cat
Summary: What do the others see, at the ending of Coronet?





	The Children of God

And a slim, red-haired woman opened a door in a vortex and stepped out, the storm shrivelling behind her. “The others will deal with the rest,” she said, “but you I must advise.” 

“Who are you?” Carys asked. 

“I rather think it is I who should ask you that,” the woman responded. Her dress was the colour of sea foam, and thin silver rings glittered on her fingers. 

Raffi would tell her just to accept what came. This vision was being strange enough; she doubted giving the apparition her name would hurt much. 

“My name is Carys Arrin,” she said, and then, when that didn’t seem to be sufficient, “five-forty-seven Marn Mountain.” 

The woman shook her head. “That is not what I asked,” she said. “Who are you?” 

What else might she want? “Caryn Arrin. Sixteen.” 

“Anything else?” 

There was no more information she had. Name, number, rank, age, house. The Watch had never let them know anything more. The Watch never let her be anything more than the short, brief entry she had found in the Hall of Moons. 

Who are you, the woman asked. Not What’s your name, not Where are you from. Who are you. And she understood. 

In this dream she had moved worlds, she had released seasons, so she reached into the past and drew out the thread of her life to show her- 

-night in the Watch-house, darkness somehow made more dark by the moonlight filtering in and silence made more silent by the other children’s breathing- 

-the touch of her calf to the horse’s side, and it sprang forward into a run- 

-a crossbow wrenched to the side at the last second- 

-waves breaking all around her and dreams of raging storms- 

-the hope that maybe, this time, she would surprise Galen- 

“You believe in the Order’s teachings, then?” the woman asked. 

She shook her head. “Not really. I’m not sure. They always told me-“ 

“They?” 

“The Watch.” The Order certainly had powers, but she didn’t think she had to believe to use them. And if it meant giving up her skills, like all the Order she had met, if it meant being so naïve, so trusting, she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to. But she had abandoned the Watch, too. For them. 

The woman stepped back. “You cannot live forever in two worlds, Carys,” she whispered. “Who do you want to be?” 

* * *

And a Starman opened a door in a vortex and stepped out, the storm shrivelling behind him. “The others will deal with the rest,” he said. “But you I should talk to.” 

The Sekoi turned away, momentarily-forgotten shame and hate flowing back. After all they had done, after all the keepers had asked for in their names, after everything the Sekoi had put up with from Starmen who worshipped them, this one thought there was anything he could say that deserved its respect? 

(Nevermind that in the stories it had been he who learned their Tongue and he who treated them most like equals…) 

It had nothing to say to him, or any of them. That was the Karamax’s role. That was what the Starmen believed. 

“I had thought,” the man said, “that no Sekoi would ever betray the Hoard.” 

“You don’t need to remind me!” it hissed. “If you are asking why I did it-" it hid its eyes with its hands, the still-cold Coronet brushing against its fingertips “-I do not know.” 

“And yet you did do it.” 

“I know!” Its fur was prickling all over, and not from cold. It took a deep breath. “You know, this is all your fault. They worship you. Everything the Order does, they do in your name.” 

The Sekoi knew differently. They always had. Among all the false stories they told were some true, some only for Sekoi ears. Some stories that came down through the years and generations from those that had known the Makers. And the stories said that they lied and they wept and they wondered and they failed. They were as flawed as Sekoi. 

“I cannot change that.” 

“Cannot, or will not?” it challenged. 

Unexpectedly, Tamar smiled. “Will not, I suppose. It would not be right.” 

“Galen says that you _created_ us.” If the Order was that wrong, why would Tamar refuse to correct them? 

He looked at it in surprise, and then broke out laughing. “As if!” The stories had always held that the Sekoi had been here before the Makers and were still here after them. And if the only people who who thought that true were the Makers, who had seen it, so be it. “We never could have dreamed anything like you, much less created you. We were never so powerful as that.” 

“I know. And yet it is still how they see us.” It shifted unhappily. The problem with having fur was that it revealed its annoyance and nervousness to everybody - even to the Starmen who could hide theirs. “Galen says he understands that our faith is not the same, but I do not believe he truly does. It is only the Order’s faith he knows. And he is teaching Raffi and Carys to be like him.” 

“He is still only your friend, and not your god.” 

“The Sekoi have no gods,” it snapped. 

“I know. So in the end, your choices are yours only. If you do not wish the Order to overtake what you believe, you need not let them.” 

It had given in. When Galen asked about the Margrave, it had only told them what they wanted to hear. When he had claimed they were creatures of the Makers, it had not argued. When he had demanded to be brought to the Circling, to the Hoard, it had led him. It had never stood up before Galen. Not really. 

Still, though… “I still do not wish to lose their friendship,” it said. 

Tamar smiled sadly at it. “Sometimes,” he said, “you haven’t got that choice.”


End file.
